as her word.
Everything was in perfect order. The Marchesa had notified to her pupils
that they must report themselves that same evening at dinner, and she
took down with her her maid, one of those marvellous Italian servants
who combine fidelity with efficiency in a degree strange to the denizens
of more progressive lands. Now, with Angelina's assistance, she proposed
to set before the company their first dinner all'Italiana, and the last
they would taste without having participated in the preparation. The
real work was to begin the following morning.

The dinner was both a revelation and a surprise to the majority of
the company. All were well travelled, and all had eaten of the mongrel
French dishes given at the "Grand" hotels of the principal Italian
cities, and some of them, in search of adventures, had dined at London
restaurants with Italian names over the doors, where--with certain
honourable exceptions--the cookery was French, and not of the best,
certain Italian plates being included in the carte for a regular
clientele, dishes which would always be passed over by the English
investigator, because he now read, or tried to read, their names for the
first time. Few of the Marchesa's pupils had ever wandered away from
the arid table d'hote in Milan, or Florence, or Rome, in search of the
ristorante at which the better class of townsfolk were wont to take
their colazione. Indeed, whenever an Englishman does break fresh ground
in this direction, he rarely finds sufficient presence of mind to
controvert the suggestions of the smiling minister who, having spotted
his Inglese, at once marks down an omelette aux fines herbes and a
biftek aux pommes as the only food such a creature can consume. Thus the
culinary experiences of Englishmen in Italy have led to the perpetuation
of the legend that the traveller can indeed find decent food in the
large towns, "because the cooking there is all French, you know," but
that, if he should deviate from the beaten track, unutterable horrors,
swimming in oil and reeking with garlic, would be his portion. Oil
and garlic are in popular English belief the inseparable accidents
of Italian cookery, which is supposed to gather its solitary claim to
individuality from the never-failing presence of these admirable, but
easily abused, gifts of Nature.

"You have given us a delicious dinner, Marchesa," said Mrs. Wilding
as the coffee appeared. "You mustn't think me captious in my
remarks--i